


Survival

by out_there



Category: Prison Break
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-02-11
Updated: 2009-02-11
Packaged: 2017-10-09 16:25:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/89386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/out_there/pseuds/out_there
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Think of it as <em>Prison Break</em> in the style of <em>Lost</em>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Survival

**Author's Note:**

> It's all [](http://aurora-84.livejournal.com/profile)[**aurora_84**](http://aurora-84.livejournal.com/)'s fault, really.

All Michael remembers of the crash is his stomach lurching as the plane dropped thousands of miles mid-flight and the ominous creaking of metal tearing apart. The rest is darkness. His memory's blank until the image of Sara leaning over him, afternoon sunlight catching on her hair, asking his name and trying to explain that he needed to lie still. She'd explained in medical terms -- concussion, broken ribs, fractured wrist -- but lying on the beach, he'd seen it through an engineer's eyes. Force and pressure, torque and strain, the violence and damage of the crash was twisted into the metal wreckage, carved out of aluminium and steel.

There were frighteningly few survivors. Sara Tancredi, who said she was a doctor; Fernando Sucre, who said he did whatever paid; Alexander Mahone, who didn't mention his job at all.

But Alex -- who apparently did "nothing interesting" back home -- talked about search patterns, longitude and latitude, the importance of shelter. While Sara and Sucre checked the bodies, looking for a pulse, lying the dead in neat rows and closing their eyes, Alex sorted through the cabin wreckage and pulled out bags.

Michael isn't sure what happened next. He remembers the spike of pain when he was moved to the makeshift tent, he remembers the flickering shadows of firelight, he remembers being woken up to drink and to eat, but it's not until days later that he can confidently track what happened. He pieces it together from what the others tell him.

They used Sara's knowledge of tides to trudge North, to search for other survivors. They found Linc and LJ, along with a woman who only spoke Spanish. Sucre tells him that her name is Sofia and translates when necessary. Sara tells him of the other bodies they found, the little boy that Alex insisted on burying. Alex tells him that they found a broken radio and couldn't send a signal, but he paces as he talks, viciously pushes his hand through his hair, and Michael doesn't ask about the boy.

It's Linc who tells him the truth and doesn't sugar-coat it. It's Linc who tells him what the others have discussed in furtive whispers. They won't get saved. They'd changed routes mid-flight and there's no way in hell a search will extend far enough to find them. They're stuck here, surrounded by bodies and twisted metal, until they die, one by one. It's impossible, Linc tells him.

"It's not impossible," Michael hears himself say. For the first time in days, his head feels clear and the thrumming ache in his right wrist isn't bothering him. "It's just difficult."

"Mikey," Linc says, like he's still five years old, "you can't be serious."

"Really think I can't make this work? Get us out of here?"

Linc stares at him for a moment. Then he laughs.


End file.
